


Normal Is Highly Overrated

by HelgaHufflepunk



Series: Life After The War [1]
Category: The Sisters Grimm - Michael Buckley
Genre: F/M, Puckabrina - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, ahhhhh i haven't written for these bbs in So Long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7318285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelgaHufflepunk/pseuds/HelgaHufflepunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sabrina goes on a date with a boy from her English class. Puck is decidedly unhappy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normal Is Highly Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm two-shot trash.

“There,” Daphne says, proudly, one of her big, face-eating smiles booming across her face. “All done!”

Sabrina, it should be noted, is feeling decidedly  _ less _ chipper, despite the situation. She’s been sitting in this chair for over thirty minutes, and her butt hurts, and her face feels like she’s been hit by one of Puck’s gung bombs - heavy and the kind of wet-dry that makes her want to take about three showers. But she  _ had  _ been the one to ask Daphne to do this, and even if she’s kind of fuzzy as to  _ why she would ever do that to herself  _ right now, she can’t deny that if anyone is going to make Sabrina Grimm look pretty for a date, it’s her little sister.

It should also be noted that Sabrina really, really wasn’t interested in thinking about how pitiful that is. Or, at least, she was trying very hard not to.

“D’you wanna see it?” Daphne asks, excitedly, dark wisps of hair falling out of her braid to frame her face. She’s biting her lip, like she always does when her hands are too full for her to shove her palm in there, and her eyes are twinkling so brightly, you’d think it was  _ her  _ about to go on her first date.

“Yeah,” Sabrina says, with no small amount of hesitance. “Um. Sure.”

Daphne squeals, and then she’s turning Sabrina around to face the bathroom mirror and - oh.

Oh.

“You don’t need the makeup,” Puck had told her once, softly. She can still feel the uncomfortable feeling of the trampoline beneath her and the warmed metal of the handcuff around her wrist and the burn of her blush as she looked over at him. She’ll never forget the look he had on his face, then, for just that one moment - it was so un-Puck-like; so sincere. The kind of look he only ever gets around -

Well, that doesn’t matter. The point is, Sabrina thinks, looking at her reflection in the spotty mirror, that Puck was wrong _._ Or, at least - partially wrong. 

Because, yes, of course Sabrina doesn’t  _ need  _ the makeup, but - 

_ Wow,  _ does she look good with it.

Her eyes look wider - bluer - than they ever have, her eyelashes long and her lips a shade of inviting, rosy pink. It’s simple; natural; nothing too bold or outlandish. Daphne had even managed to control herself and not add on her signature curling wing to the eyeliner. It looked like - Sabrina, but a more sophisticated Sabrina. Sabrina 2.0, ready for things like dating and boys and high school. Sabrina The Teenage Girl.

She wonders, for the briefest of moments, what Puck would think if he saw her like this, but then she shoves that thought aside and beats it down with a club.

It doesn’t matter what Puck would think, she tells herself. Puck isn’t _here._

Her stomach definitely doesn’t twist at the reminder.

“Thanks, Daph,” she says, quietly, her eyes meeting Daphne’s in the mirror. She tries to ignore the understanding she sees there - she  _ doesn’t miss Puck,  _ why does everyone keep treating her like she’s  _ delicate,  _ she’s  _ fine,  _ he can do whatever he wants - and musters up a smile.

Daphne’s own smile widens, and she waves a hand through the air, as if to bat away Sabrina’s gratitude. “Pshaw,” she says. “I’m pretty sure I’m having way more fun dressing you up than you are.” Sabrina snorts, but doesn’t deny it - Daphne  _ loves  _ dressing Sabrina up, especially since she’s starting watching those makeup vlogs on YouTube.

Right now, though, Sabrina just needs a distraction until Eric comes to pick her up - sweet,  _ normal  _ Eric from her English class, who is cute and doesn’t mind when her hair is ratty, or that her family is a little weird. Brown-haired, hazel-eyed, glasses-wearing Eric, who likes watching Disney movies and is in Choir and moved here from  _ Ohio  _ and is  _ normal,  _ and doesn’t fly off to God-knows-where with her uncle for months at a time, or kiss her in front of a bunch of monkeys while she smells like vomit, or -

Eric. Eric Eric Eric. Eric.

“Can you do my hair?” she asks, and Daphne’s eyes light up, and for a moment, she’s just a normal girl, getting ready for a date. Just Sabrina - no Grimm, no mystery to be solved, no evil to fight. She wonders if the idea twisted at her dad’s gut, too, after he left. She wonders if any Grimm could ever be really, truly happy without being a full-on Grimm.

“Milkmaid braid?” Daphne asks, and Sabrina refocuses on her sister’s face in the glass of the mirror, her eyebrows arching in question.

“Sure?” she replies. “You’re the expert here, Daph.”

“Milkmaid braid,” Daphne decides after a moment, before twisting her hands into Sabrina’s hair and beginning to work.

Sabrina forces her shoulders to relax, closing her eyes as Daphne runs a brush through her hair, and tries very hard to suppress the urge to go and wash off her makeup and curl in bed and forget this whole thing.

Sweet, normal Eric. Hazel eyes. Has strong opinions about the sexism present in modern portrayals of fairytales. And glasses. And doesn’t smell all the time. And owns multiple pairs of clothes. Sweet, normal Eric, who  _ does not  _ deserve to be compared to some ancient stink-bomb who was stupid enough to eat a poisoned apple while  _ inside  _ the Seven Dwarves’ cottage.

As soon as this thought crosses her mind, she hears a loud, familiar knock at the front door, and her entire body goes tense and warm and hopeful.

It’s probably just Eric, she thinks to herself. He’s just early, that’s all.

She knows better than to hope that every loud, obnoxious knock is  _ his _ , by now. Pinocchio and Charming had been stopping by regularly since the end of the War, after all, as well as many other less-than-sweet members of the Ferryport Landing community.

Daphne’s fingers still in her hair, and they both wait, with bated breath, as they listen for the sound of Canis moving to see who is at the door. First, they hear the sound of claws scraping hurriedly on wood - Elvis, of course, coming to greet whoever is there - and then the familiar tap, tap,  _ creak  _ of Canis’s shoes.

The hum of voices is too far away for Sabrina to hear, but the sound of the thousands of locks being opened is not. She strains to hear the first sounds of the stranger’s entrance over the thumping of her heartbeat -  _ it can’t be him it isn’t him of course he would come  _ tonight  _ of all nights it can’t be him please be him  _ \- but then the door is opening and -

“Honey, I’m _ho-o-ome!_ ” Puck booms, loud and clear and annoying as ever.  
  
Her breath whooshes out of her lungs, and Daphne squeals.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it!!


End file.
